Mama's Favorite Poem (And one of mine, too.)

Elizabeth (Akers) Allen. 1832–1911

Rock Me to Sleep

BACKWARD, turn backward, O Time, in your flight,
Make me a child again just for to-night!
Mother, come back from the echoless shore,
Take me again to your heart as of yore;
Kiss from my forehead the furrows of care,	5
Smooth the few silver threads out of my hair;
Over my slumbers your loving watch keep;—
Rock me to sleep, mother,—rock me to sleep!
Backward, flow backward, O tide of the years!
I am so weary of toil and of tears,—	10
Toil without recompense, tears all in vain,—
Take them, and give me my childhood again!
I have grown weary of dust and decay,—
Weary of flinging my soul-wealth away;
Weary of sowing for others to reap;—	15
Rock me to sleep, mother,—rock me to sleep!
Tired of the hollow, the base, the untrue,
Mother, O mother, my heart calls for you!
Many a summer the grass has grown green,
Blossomed and faded, our faces between:	20
Yet, with strong yearning and passionate pain,
Long I to-night for your presence again.
Come from the silence so long and so deep;—
Rock me to sleep, mother,—rock me to sleep!
Over my heart, in the days that are flown,	25
No love like mother-love ever has shone;
No other worship abides and endures,—
Faithful, unselfish, and patient like yours:
None like a mother can charm away pain
From the sick soul and the world-weary brain.	30
Slumber's soft calms o'er my heavy lids creep;—
Rock me to sleep, mother,—rock me to sleep!
Come, let your brown hair, just lighted with gold,
Fall on your shoulders again as of old;
Let it drop over my forehead to-night,	35
Shading my faint eyes away from the light;
For with its sunny-edged shadows once more
Haply will throng the sweet visions of yore;
Lovingly, softly, its bright billows sweep;—
Rock me to sleep, mother,—rock me to sleep!	40
Mother, dear mother, the years have been long
Since I last listened your lullaby song:
Sing, then, and unto my soul it shall seem
Womanhood's years have been only a dream.
Clasped to your heart in a loving embrace,	45
With your light lashes just sweeping my face,
Never hereafter to wake or to weep;—
Rock me to sleep, mother,—rock me to sleep!

Forward, Backward

It's now been two months since Mama died. Some days I feel almost steady, as if I had a limp but suddenly my leg is stronger, but the moment I plant my foot firmly on Earth, the limp is back, with twice the pain. I am re-reading the things I posted on Facebook while Mom was sick. Several people have thanked me for those posts and I think it's because no one talks about the day to day thoughts and feelings one experiences while watching a loved one die.

But back to today...For the last two months, I have not heard my mother's voice. (Save for a voice mail I still have on my cell where she only says "Are you home safe?" which I have listened to at least 20 times.) But prior to her death, I heard her voice every day for 51 years of life. We talked every day. We liked each other. She wanted to know every single thing about my day every day for my entire life. I think the loneliness is the hardest part of the loss because frankly I'm just not quite that interesting to anyone else. Loving me and my father were Mom's reason to get up each morning. That's what she did. She loved us and she loved us well. And she loved a lot of other people well, too. I still feel the afterglow of her love on me, but I can't hear the sound of it anymore.

At night I lay in bed hugging her Teddy Bears and after just two months of my constantly sniffing them can't smell her on them anymore, either. I have boxes of her things my cousin has mailed and I can't open them for fear I will let the smell out and won't have any way at all to feel her close to me.

And even as I type these words I hear how crazy they sound, but they are in fact the truth as it stands today.

The Call

On Sunday May 5th, the world was okay. I got up, went to church, and was enjoying a sunny San Diego springtime afternoon. My mother mentioned earlier in the week that she had been to the doctor for tests and that she would get the results on Tuesday. She'd been having trouble breathing and had had a heart issue earlier in the year.

I asked her if she wanted me to fly to Florida, and she said no, to wait until Tuesday and see what the tests said.

My cousin Mary Alice, whom my mother lived with called me late Sunday afternoon. "How soon can you come and how long can you stay?" she asked. I told her Mom told me to wait until Tuesday to see what the doctor said.

"I'm not sure she will make it until Tuesday, Tam. You should come now."

I got on the first plane out on Monday morning.

Miracles and Mama

It's a miracle that I am able to write because I'm not supposed to exist. They told my mother that she would be unable to bear children following a partial hysterectomy in her late 20's. She didn't accept that as an answer and prayed for a child fervently until I was born on her 34th birthday.

Her prayer was answered, and I am here, and we've had many answered prayers over the years, she and I. She has been the one who kept track of all of our miracles and on days I was discouraged she reminded me of each one. "Remember that time you lost your green contact lens in the grass and we prayed and we found it?" Remember the time the post office said they didn't have your Avon package and we prayed and they went and checked again and it was there?" Remember that time when my friend was going to stop and give you a ride to work but didn't because she saw you walking with a big man, but no one was there? That was your guardian angel." Mama had a way of seeing miracles all around her and living your life with such a woman was a childhood filled with non stop wonder and faith and belief, because she believed everything and saw the spiritual so easily she helped tune my earthbound eyes heavenward to see my own miracles.

I've loved my mother every day of my life. We never had that separating of ways some mothers and daughters have - we stayed connected and in touch daily every day of my life.

Mother said her friends thought it odd that we talked every day and asked her "What do you have to say to each other every day?" Mama replied "All the things we won't be able to say after we're gone."

She had a good answer to every question.

We spoke for the last time on Friday May 18th. My mother took her final breath at 5:50 pm as I hovered over her singing her hymns because I didn't know what else to do.

They teach premarital classes to teach people how to be married. They teach childbirth classes to teach you how to have a baby. They teach parenting classes to teach you how to raise a child. But no one teaches a class on how to watch a parent die.

I can't teach that class either, I can only share my experience, and I shall.